


in your reflection (i see misery)

by dyobrienz (Muffintine)



Series: Tumblr Drabbles [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Drabble, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-31
Updated: 2013-07-31
Packaged: 2017-12-21 22:34:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/905738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muffintine/pseuds/dyobrienz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Look at me,” Stiles demands, “look at me and tell me that this isn’t another one of your half-cocked, suicidal, fucked up redemption missions fueled by your unyielding idiocy!”</p>
            </blockquote>





	in your reflection (i see misery)

“ _What_ ,” Stiles practically spits, hands windmilling as his face scrunches up into enraged disbelief. “Are you _insane?_ I mean, I know you’re an idiotic, self-sacrificing masochist, but _come on!_ ” He takes a step closer, eyes narrowing dangerously as his face shifts into something darker, something cold, angry, and irrational.

Derek isn’t facing him. Instead, he’s turned to the side, face set into his trademark glower as he splays his hands out against the dusty top of his desk. “It’s the only way,” he grits out angrily, words clipped with an underlying _don’t argue with me, Stiles_. Well fuck that noise, he isn’t letting this go without a damn fight.

“Do you really want to die that badly?” Stiles seethes, feeling as if he’s going to vibrate out of his skin. He feels frayed around the edges, somehow wrong as he takes in the broken visage of a man before him. Underneath the anger and rage simmering just below Derek’s skin is a tired man, a man who’s given up, who isn’t even bothering to fight anymore.

The bastard doesn’t even answer him.

That pisses Stiles the hell off. He stomps forward then, grapples wildly at Derek’s forearm and jerks, forcing the older, bulkier man to turn and face him. His gaze is hollow, empty—wrong, so fucking wrong. It makes Stiles’ gut twist, makes the near panicked fear curling around his heart tighten and squeeze. “Look at me,” Stiles demands, “look at me and tell me that this isn’t another one of your half-cocked, suicidal, fucked up redemption missions fueled by your unyielding idiocy!”

Derek looks at him, expression pained and eyes soulfully wretched.

Stiles pushes him away angrily. “That’s what I thought,” he sneers, “you _can’t_ _._ ”

“Stiles,” Derek says, tone deceptively calm.

“No,” Stiles croaks, emotions waging a war inside him. “Don’t…just _don’t_ _._ ”

Derek looks conflicted for a moment, lips twisting and throat bulging as he swallows harshly. He glances at Stiles, stares at him for a long, lingering moment and then sighs. He turns rigidly, pauses, and then says dryly, “I’ll try my best not to die.”

And then he’s gone, just like that.

“I’m not going to let you do this,” Stiles yells after him before kicking over a trash can in a fit of rage.

He keeps his promise.


End file.
